


mob ties.

by jeanjosten



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood and Gore, Boss/Employee Relationship, Butcher!Neil, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Drinking to Cope, Kidnapping, M/M, Mafia AU, Murder, Psychological Torture, Rival Relationship, Sexual Tension, Torture, Trainee, Young Adults, rival gangs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 05:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanjosten/pseuds/jeanjosten
Summary: Nathaniel Wesninski’s always been part of the mob. But until now, he’s never been asked to take part in the killings, in the torture, in the devilish doings of his rich and merciless gang. He’s got two months of suspended sentence before he inherits his father’s knives, and things are going to get way more complicated—especially when he falls in love with the rival gang’s adopted son, and Nathaniel finds out the harsh way it’s no good to love in this line of business.





	mob ties.

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again with an au i’m never going to finish. kevineil mob romeo & juliet au bitches  
> the [playlist here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/5gMLOxy1FPioIoftQ3rOOI?si=UEX8bLl7T-mWfA8s9H8eKA)  
> i’m wndg on [tumblr!](http://wdng.tumbl.com/) ask all your questions and talk about your day luv

It always started the same way: his father riled up, his mother crying. Anger almost made the whole house shake, vibrate in waves of twisted and awful energy. Nathaniel was getting used to it by now. The screaming, the kicking, the slapping. It went both ways but he had realized, a long time ago, his father never used weapons when it came to his wife. Perhaps it was a sort of equal duel, of indignant fairplay, but Nathaniel didn't think so. He didn't want to raise attention, he didn't want nosy housewives to ask about the gashes on her face, didn’t want people to stare when they would go out to pick up the newspapers or wash their humongous Range Rovers. Too soon the police would be on their back, yet again, and the Wesninskis knew this wasn't good business for anyone.

"He's just a child," she yelled with a voice so fierce it almost made Nathaniel shiver. He'd never heard his mother so broken—so lost, much less in front of his father. It was a sort of promise she had made herself, to always stay composed where Nathan could break her in a blink. Showing that much vulnerability was suicide. "You can't make him do that."

And he was right: Nathaniel couldn't be forced of anything. He was a monster of nature, the blood of his blood, the good-looking and well-dressed creature the Butcher of Baltimore had come to raise. He hadn't, not _really_. It had been his mother's job, the poor Mary, or a good dozen of Nathan's men's. Nathaniel didn't mind. He was as close to his parents as he was to the mob—officially tight as family, but behind closed doors, as much of a stranger as the next one.

"I'm not going to force him. He's going to do it on his own, because that's what he's meant to be and he knows it."

"Maybe so," she conceded, because there wasn't much to argue about being a Wesninski. It was in their blood just like it was in hers. "But let him live a few more years in peace. Let him have a normal life before it all goes down forever."

"His life will only start when he joins me," Nathan sternly cut. He looked at her like she was insinuating things, like she had meant Nathan's profession was more of a defect than it was a success. He couldn't bear such a thought. His mob was _everything_. It didn’t matter that they were working for another rival mob, one Nathan had planned on soon taking down for power, territory, and, of course, money. Blood was going to be spilled and he counted on his son to draw some. That’s how much of narcissistic control freak he was; he had named his own son after himself to perpetuate the legacy. _For everyone to know._

Nathaniel scouted closer to the narrow gap in the doorframe, shoving his right eye where he could fully see his father. They were standing in the dining room of their giant mansion in the middle of a Baltimore suburb, a whole other world full of 4x4s and country clubs. The men went golfing, the mothers went gossiping, and it was pretty much all they ever did. It could have been a dangerous place to live in if the Wesninskis weren't so transparent: 'business undertakers,' Nathaniel would have his father introduce them a billion times. For now this insatiable nosiness protected them more than anything.

The silence Nathan let invade the room was as pristine as precious. It was controlled, it was given like a privilege. Mary stood without blinking, determined to have what she wanted, what she had been fighting for since Nathaniel's birth: freedom.

Nathan wasn't a good man, much less a good father, but he knew some things had to be done before his son could join the business in his turn. It didn't mean he was going out, it meant he was training his son to be the leader of their so-called association with the Moriyamas, or, in other words, Nathan's boss. It was as ruthless a world as could be, and Mary spent every night regretting her life choices. She had come herself from a family of criminal, it was no news; but never she had imagined her own flesh would become so in his turn. A killer.

A monster.

"When winter comes," he decided, cold as ice. "Then he will be mine."

Nathaniel's breath hitched up. He knew his fate was sealed, but he hadn't expected a suspended sentence. Not in this lifetime.

The surprise made his hand give up and the doorknob creaked under the weight of his palm. He ran to the closest corridor, knowing too well the consequence of spying on Nathan's conversations (his body told the story for him, all scarred and tender), and hid in one of their four bathrooms. He waited for silence to settle again, for his parents to part ways, and walked back upstairs to his messy bedroom. At the end of the staircase was Jackson, hands tied and eyes fierce, following him closer with every step he took. He was one of Nathan's watchdogs—one he had been assigned to at birth. Jackson didn't entertain any kind of affection towards Nathaniel—it wasn't his job—but he did something way more important in their line of business: respect.

Without it, Nathaniel was as good as dead.

He closed the door and quietly turned the key in its hole. He wasn't allowed to lock himself up, but Nathaniel wasn't his father's son for nothing. He abhorred rules as his maker did, and twice as much as he did his maker. It wasn't God. It was the _devil_ , of the ruthless kind.

And he had two months before he'd become the devil in his turn.


End file.
